


Bound

by De Orakle (Delphi)



Category: Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Bondage, Established Relationship, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-01-01
Updated: 1999-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-10 02:14:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/94106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delphi/pseuds/De%20Orakle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ezra and Josiah experiment with bondage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bound

**Author's Note:**

> Exact date of publication unknown.

He couldn't believe he was doing this.

Mouth dry, palms slick, Ezra's body was doing a jangling little dance of nerves. He scooted forward to the edge of the mattress, craning his neck to try to get a better view of what Josiah was doing. The bed creaked beneath him, a panicky sound. Josiah didn't turn around.

Ezra sighed. He tapped his stocking-foot against the floor. He tried to pinpoint just when the conversation had turned from provocative one-upmanship to Ezra having his wardrobe riffled through for...?

"Handkerchiefs?" Josiah asked.

Handkerchiefs. Ezra frowned and then shrugged to himself. "Over to the left, beside my...drawers."

There was a brief pause before the wardrobe slammed shut. When Josiah turned around, it was to present two blue handkerchiefs—one cotton, one silk—with a triumphant flourish.

Ezra rolled his eyes. The gesture didn't put so much as a dent in Josiah's sly grin, which only widened as Josiah's hand slipped down to untie his bandanna from where it was knotted through his belt loops. Ezra's gaze slid down Josiah's chest and belly, watching Josiah pause in his work to casually rearrange the bulge at the front of his trousers.

Ezra winced when the creaking bed gave his squirming away. Josiah's cupped hand lingered a moment longer than it had to, giving himself a little squeeze.

Ezra looked down and then let his line of sight drift over to the chair in the corner where his jacket and vest lay folded, half-hidden under Josiah's carelessly tossed coat. Ezra's hands itched for pockets. Anything. Buttons and loose threads to occupy his fingers. He reached up to toy with the ends of his cravat. He pulled it loose and draped it over the palm of his hand. The black fabric was soft and worn shiny in the middle where it was knotted. He folded it in half, then quarters. He looped it around his wrist in a slipknot and pulled it tight...

He looked up into Josiah's concerned eyes. He smiled a touch ruefully to the unasked question. Yes, he knew he could still back out. That was why he wouldn't. "I never could resist a challenge," he said. And he winked, because that always made Josiah look down and smile.

Josiah sat down beside him on the bed. He leaned in close, and Ezra just barely caught himself from flinching. Perhaps Josiah hadn't noticed, but whatever the reason, his touch was exceptionally gentle when he pulled him forward for a soft kiss. A very slow lick parted Ezra's lips, filling him with lazy and familiar warmth.

Ezra shivered as Josiah's tongue tickled the roof of his mouth, withdrew, and wet Ezra's lips. Josiah's hands were heavy on his shoulders, clasping tight before slipping down to encircle his wrists. A squeeze—Josiah's fingertips pressing into Ezra's pulse-points, ones that beat faster as Ezra's blood found more interesting places to be.

He clenched his hands once before turning them palms-up in a show of surrender that was only partly in play. He closed his eyes, and cool air quavered over his lips. His tongue darted out to warm them, and he could almost taste the whiskey that Josiah had been drinking.

A quiet snap—he opened his eyes—and his right cufflink came undone. Snap—his left. Josiah rolled back Ezra's shirtsleeves, stroking his arms with such endearing gentleness that Ezra decided to keep hold of any comment he might have made toward the shirt's weave being much too delicate to be folded.

An anticipatory itch prickled in his palms, and he took a small, inexplicable pleasure in ignoring it. Warm cotton enveloped his left wrist, and he stared down at it—the blue handkerchief against the white of his skin and the whiter-than-white of his shirt. Josiah pulled it tight, slipping his finger between the cloth and Ezra's skin to give it just a little slack. The silk that was wrapped around Ezra's right wrist was cooler—refusing to relinquish its rich chill to something as common as body heat, Ezra fancied.

His wrists were kissed through the cloth, a queer little gesture that made Ezra's face go hot. He had never noticed before that Josiah could hold both of his wrists in one hand.

Josiah turned away to riffle through his abandoned coat, and Ezra took the opportunity to flex his wrists, testing the cloth bindings with calculating interest. He glanced over at Josiah's hands, and his suspicion mounted.

"Do you always just happen to carry a coil of rope on your person?"

Josiah's untamed grin was far less subtle than the manner in which he had guided their conversation to matters of truth and dare. "Never know when the occasion might call for it."

And even if Ezra narrowed his eyes in reply, it passed unsaid that on a night when all was quiet on the western plains, nothing less adventuresome was to be expected.

Josiah wound the thin rope carefully around Ezra's wrists, looping it into a perfect hitch-knot. Understanding of the handkerchiefs' necessity dawned—Ezra had been roped before, under far less pleasurable circumstances at that, and he remembered all too well the burns and the blood. He watched while Josiah's fingers deftly twisted the rough braid and—giving an experimental tug—he had to concede admiration for the man's pinioning skills. It seemed as though circulation to his fingertips would continue, but he would admittedly have a difficult time freeing himself unaided. He wondered, briefly, if Josiah's obvious experience had been limited to calves.

Ezra sighed quietly. Only as he began to calm did he realize how tense he'd become. He let himself sink comfortably into the silence that fell as Josiah carefully folded his bandanna. Perhaps Ezra had once found it strange that while it was the prospect of lively conversation that had first caused him to seek out Josiah's company, it was in these well-suited silences that he most felt the kinship between them. Now, however, he listened in peace to Josiah's breathing and his own.

Josiah looked up, smiling. A kiss followed, and then another—perhaps an attempt at reassurance on Josiah's part. Utterly unnecessary, Ezra wanted to tell him, but instead found himself leaning in closer. He tilted his head in acquiescence when Josiah drew back and raised his makeshift blindfold. He closed his eyes in anticipation; the knot was pulled tight at the base of his skull, and his stomach gave an unpleasant flip.

He flinched when he caught the faint breeze of motion, only relaxing when he felt the caress sweeping upward from his temples. A gentle pull—Josiah freeing the locks of his hair that were trapped beneath the blindfold. The touch trailed back, tucking the bandanna behind Ezra's ears and fading as it moved toward the nape of his neck.

Then nothing.

Ezra went stock-still, irrationally tense. He knew Josiah hadn't moved, could still hear and feel him, but couldn't hold back a small sigh of relief when Josiah's hands returned. One hand on his back, the other on his shoulder, and he was lowered gently to the mattress. He opened his eyes, but all he could see was a blurred shadow in alternating shades of dark blue.

Heat spread overtop of him, and he heard the unspoken question when Josiah took hold of the rope and gave a slight pull. So he was again being given the chance to back out. And some part of him wanted to take it—the part that was listening intently for the cocking hammer, for the sound of the door swinging open...but the rest of him could feel Josiah's hand gently squeezing his forearm, could hear Josiah swallowing dryly, and knew the other man was hard and ready and just...waiting.

Ezra raised his arms until his fingertips brushed the headboard and was then hauled up awkwardly while the other end of the rope was secured. Experimentally, he pulled at his bonds and found they held fast.

His palms itched again. He forced himself to relax, trying not to shiver as his muscles jumped about, looking for action. He could feel the warmth of Josiah's face nearing his own, and he parted his lips in anticipation. He wasn't disappointed when his mouth was seized, his lips ground against his teeth with the force of it. The wet sounds of it made him flush.

He was pleased to discover that he didn't need sight to give as well as he got. The only thing missing from the simple pleasure was being able to lock his arms behind Josiah's back—the solid weight of the other man, his heartbeat against Ezra's chest.

Ezra's hands clutched empty air, and he experimented with raising his head off the pillow. His shoulders strained as he tried to feel more against him than those maddeningly meandering lips. Slippery warmth slid against his tongue, tracing smooth and textured and bitingly sharp.

And just when it was almost close enough, hard enough—when he could feel Josiah's chest lowering onto his own, feel his lips bruising—then Josiah pulled back in mid-swallow, leaving Ezra in a desperate moist-mouthed gasp.

Josiah's whisper shivered into his ear: "Perfect."

* * *

He couldn't believe he was doing this.

His solemn pronouncement of Ezra's strained and flushed state, though too true, rang with irrevocability. Josiah let his lips, his breath and kiss, linger over the shell of Ezra's ear. He whispered softly as Ezra leaned toward him in an arching feline pose, warning in a hush for Ezra to speak only if he wanted the blindfold removed and the ropes untied and the outside world returned.

It was not with a lust for power in his heart that he gave the warning, but with the sight of Ezra—stretched out tight and lean, blind and bound and helpless—burned into his eyes. He knew Ezra's words, as heated in the night as they were cool by day; knew those pleas and promises, the small laughs and gasps that skirted the edges of something that had yet to be spoken of between them. That smooth voice of Ezra's broken up by passion was far too enticing to dark thoughts and deeds, and Josiah was not entirely sure that he trusted himself with Ezra's deliciously defenseless position. But Ezra did fall silent save for his steadied breathing, and at that show of trust, Josiah just had to give voice to his vow that he meant to make this so incredibly fine for Ezra. So fine.

With unsteady hands, Josiah hurriedly unbuttoned and shucked his own shirt. He saw Ezra smile at the sound and motion, and much more slowly, he began to uncover Ezra in kind.

Two buttons, and he mouthed each inch of skin that was bared. Four buttons...five. He traced the centerline of Ezra's breastbone with his tongue, wetly kissing the soft hair and even softer skin that was pressing up toward his mouth. Seven, eight, nine—that ticklish little contraction of stomach muscles when his lips traced down Ezra's belly with a quick, hot lick to his navel.

Unbuttoned and untucked—Josiah quite liked the way Ezra looked with his shirt open, that wet line drawn down the center of his pale chest. His mouth descended swiftly upon Ezra's, kissing him soundly. He felt the brief hesitation—an indrawn breath—but Ezra's soft lips gave readily, shaping and caressing his own. When Josiah pulled back, it was to the sound of a contented sigh.

The light rasp of a five o'clock shadow burned his lips as Ezra's throat beat its pulse against his mouth. He kissed a looping pattern down Ezra's chest, circling and biting at the nipples that rose up chilled and heated. A tight pleasure coiled inside him as Ezra's clenched fists twisted in their bondage. Ezra's mouth pursed tightly against the strained utterances that were staccato-ing from his throat.

Again, he kissed his way down Ezra's chest and belly. He knew his ponderous pace drove Ezra mad with the candlemarks he could spend just kissing and stroking every part of that beautiful body. He also knew that Ezra Standish driven mad was perhaps the most compelling sight on Heaven or Earth. He let his hand drift lower, brushing over Ezra's trousers where they were tightly tented. Ezra thrust forward with a desperate moan, and Josiah teasingly withdrew. He waited a moment until Ezra lay still and then slipped his fingers under Ezra's waistband, dragging a rough sound out from Ezra's throat. He reached down deeper, watching as Ezra tightened his grip on the rope and bit down on his lip as if fighting against a fierce plea.

The sight of Ezra's teeth pressing into his bottom lip, the warm throbbing under Josiah's palm...one-handed, he fumbled at his own trousers, and after sadistic consideration, repeated the favor for Ezra. He licked his lips at Ezra's helpless sigh, then licked them again as he eased down Ezra's trousers and drawers.

He stilled for a moment, as much to keep his own breathing regular as to watch Ezra squirm. The effort proved itself to be pointless though, as it was that luscious writhe of Ezra's that made him forget why breathing was a necessity. And it didn't matter, because to watch and touch and taste and burn was enough. Or nearly so.

His gaze didn't waver from Ezra's intent face, even as he fumbled for the night table drawer. It jarred open, and he saw Ezra bite his lip again in recognition of the sound and its implication. Josiah's questing hand closed around the well-rationed jar of slick that took up guilty residence by Ezra's bedside.

Ezra's parted lips and legs spoke the unchaste words his tongue could not, and Josiah answered him.

Perfect.

* * *

There was something to be said for anticipation.

That, Ezra realized as Josiah's hands began another tortuous massage upward from his feet. Josiah's attentions were as perfect as ever, those seemingly indecipherable alternations of soothe and seethe and satisfaction, but without sight, without hand to force Josiah's, there was an unbearable helplessness in the waiting.

Just there—the bone-quivering stroke to the underside of his knee—a wholly unforeseen detour from the trail of kisses along his calf, shaking him with its sweetness.

And that cruelly teasing kiss so high along his inner thigh, so close...

He lost track of where Josiah was sitting, and he felt no shame in thrusting himself forward, begging as best he could with his body. He moaned from deep in his throat without a care for how desperate he sounded, the strong rope and blue-cotton shadow restraint enough. All he needed was for Josiah to just move his hand a little clos—

Oh dear Lord...

All study of anticipation lost, Ezra surged forward toward the slick stroke inside of him, and he clenched his jaw in vain against his hitching breath. Familiar, and still unbelievably intimate, smooth and rough all at once, the drive of fingers and sheer pleasure. Just a little deeper—again, again, again, and something inside of him wound tauter and tauter, stretching him out until he felt as if he was about to snap.

He felt insufferably bare, his body crying out for a sweat-soaked weight bearing down on him, for a gripping hand and a hot, wet mouth. His only satisfactory contact was the thickness thrusting inside of him—Josiah's fingers frenzying nerves, but not nearly enough. He could feel Josiah leaning over him, so temptingly close; even blindfolded, Ezra could picture that telltale flush, the wild sparkle in his blue eyes. His body—senseless in its sensitivity—sketched an erotic portrait of Josiah in his mind, each touch a pencil-stroke.

And it was in that moment of artistic perfection—Josiah kissing his thigh, thrusting his fingers in as far as they could go—that his bonds felt their tightest.

* * *

There was something to be said for anticipation.

Unfortunately, Josiah couldn't remember for the life of him what that something was. The only words that came to mind ranged from lewd to lascivious, a select few touching briefly on beauty and burning, and at the sight and sound of Ezra so helplessly close to coming, even those were forgotten.

Josiah's shaking right hand dipped into the jar of slick and then wrapped around himself while his left drew a plaintive note from Ezra by pulling out. The brief complaint melted smoothly into a wanton moan as Josiah shifted Ezra's legs around himself and pushed inside him inch by satisfying inch. His hands slipped under Ezra's hips, trapped between the body-warmed sheets and emerging rhythm of bone and muscle. And—breathing—he was thrust as deep as he could go.

He paused, waiting for the spinning stars to fade.

He leaned forward, causing Ezra to gasp at the shifting inside of him; he wetly traced the sensitive juncture of Ezra's neck and shoulder, savoring the shivering shrug that followed. And then Ezra went still, much too still, much too quickly, a fact which barely had time to register with him before a strangling flush of pleasure rolled upward from his loins.

Again, as Ezra tightened himself around him, a small smile on his flushed face. Ezra's cock was twitching, his chest heaving, his nipples hard and still glistening with spit. Something slithered loose inside of him.

His teeth closed firmly around the too-fragile skin of Ezra's throat, and he thrust as roughly as knew Ezra liked it. A new sensation—the difference in balance without Ezra's arms wrapped around him, and it was frighteningly pleasurable to hold Ezra by the hip and have his way with utter abandon. Ezra began to shiver with each of his deepening gasps, the movement resounding through Josiah's body.

He tried to keep the thrusting of his hips toward the lesser side of savage, failing spectacularly as Ezra rocked back toward him with his blindfolded face pressed into his arm in impassioned frustration.

With the promise of satisfaction just barely in sight, he took Ezra in hand, tightly pumping in time with his own hips. Ezra's low, restrained wail snaked around Josiah's ragged breathing. He was close; he stilled, biting down on his tongue, and it was then that he heard it.

Just a whisper.

A name, withdrawn on a choked whimper, but unmistakable. Sweet assurance that Ezra, even blinded, knew who it was that drove him mad with pleasure, and who could ease him down with a practiced hand.

And it was in that helpless, breathless connection—pressing red bruises into Ezra's hips, tasting sweat on his lips—that his bonds felt their tightest.


End file.
